


things we keep quiet

by CrumblingAsh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Anxiety, Bruce Banner's Sad Backstory, Bullying, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Depression, Gen, Hurt Bruce, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt Thor (Marvel), Hurt Tony Stark, Loneliness, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-11 21:34:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16860697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrumblingAsh/pseuds/CrumblingAsh
Summary: Steve “I scream into my pillows at night so I can smile every morning” RogersClint “I eat lunch alone on the edge of the science building’s roof” BartonNatasha “I sleep during calculus because he watches me at home” RomanoffThor “I read books during class because worlds of fiction are kinder than this place” OdinsonBruce “Should I build the bomb in the basement or in my locker?” BannerTony “Maybe this will be the day I step in front of the school bus” Stark





	things we keep quiet

* * *

* * *

 

 

Steve “I scream into my pillows at night so I can smile every morning” Rogers

Clint “I eat lunch alone on the edge of the science building’s roof” Barton

Natasha “I sleep during calculus because he watches me at home” Romanoff

Thor “I read books during class because worlds of fiction are kinder than this place” Odinson

Bruce “Should I build the bomb in the basement or in my locker?” Banner

Tony “Maybe this will be the day I step in front of the school bus” Stark

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m not suicidal or anything,” Steve said, yet though he shrugged in nonchalance, his fingers tightened in the fabric of his shorts, pulling the material over the thin lines of scabbing on his inner thighs.

 

Hiding them.

 

“I don’t want to die or anything. I just … it’s a different feeling. When everything gets to be too much, it takes the edge off. It feels good. I swear. Bucky, I  _swear_  I’m not trying to kill myself.”

 

Bucky just stared at him.

__

* * *

 

 

_No, one more button_ , she thought to herself, eyeing her reflection in the bathroom’s mirror critically. 

The black paint of her nails flashed darkly across the red fabric of her blouse as she popped another button free – carefully, she gathered the edges of her sleeves into her palms and pulled down. Exposing just enough cleavage to draw the eye, just a glimmer of the black of her bra strap on her shoulder – enough to distract without overly tempting. Escort. She blinked, studying her curves and the way the hem of her top didn’t quite touch the top of her pants, the way the pushup bra strangely rounded her breasts into globes. Not street-corner prostitute. Which meant no red lipstick this time.

Slipping her hand into her pocket, she pulled out the neatly folded slip of white paper, ripping her gaze from the mirror of her image to study it. That was fine – red lipstick was for bigger things than getting a permission slip signed.

Without taking another glance at her appearance, Natasha flicked off the bathroom light and went in search of her foster father.

 

* * *

 

The hearing aids were purple.

Clint liked them like that – purple. Something about the color … calmed him down, comforted him. They’d been clear, when he was younger, like some growth on top of his skin that the doctor had said was supposed to help him not notice them. But the purple ones were better; less tumor-y and more spy gear. 

He wore them so that he could hear better than he naturally could; so that he could break up the muffled sounds of the world into whatever words it was trying to say into less muffed sounds that formed actual words.

He clenched them in his hand, carefully at first, and then tighter, and tighter, and tighter still, until he could almost convince himself that even he could hear them cracking. With a twist of his face so violent he could feel the pain in the way the muscles stretched, he threw them into the toilet and flushed before they’d even completely submerged.

_(“Yeah, but can you imagine? He can’t hear himself … I bet he sounds like a moose in bed. Brrruuuuuh. Hahaha. BruuuuuUUU-UU-UUH SAAAH GHUUUUD. Hahahaha.”)_

He turned away, shoulders drooping.

It was better not to hear anything at all.

 

* * *

 

Bruce had woken up to the feel of his father’s fists pounding into his ribs to the soundtrack of his mother’s broken weeping.

By the time he had realized it was a nightmare – that it wasn’t real – he had already locked himself in the bathroom with the gun his uncle kept stashed in the hallway closet, easily accessible in case of break-ins. Ready. Waiting for his father to bust down the door, to come at him again. _He was ready this time, he was ready- no!_ Nightmare! It was a nightmare!

God, what if his aunt had tried to come in while he was losing it? Or his cousin? What if he had hurt them? 

He sobbed into his hands, the butt of the gun pressing into his forehead as he rocked back and forth on the tile floor of the house’s only bathroom. _His father wasn’t here! Why was he still like this? Why was he still running? Why was he still so weak? Why couldn’t he just be good enough, just one time, just do the right thing **just one time?**_

He tasted … metal. His tongue was cradling something cold and flat and heavy.   
His cries cut off as if subconsciously slipping the gun into his mouth was some sort of hidden switch. 

The weight. The chill. 

Just one time.

 

* * *

 

 

The girl’s bathroom in the administration building was the quietest one in the school.

Thor straddled the toilet in the stall furthest from the door, fingers gripped so tightly in his hair that his scalp would probably burn from the pull – if he could feel it.

His American Government test was sitting on his desk, the pages blank except for his name. How many amendments are there to the constitution? How is an amendment ratified? What are the first five amendments?  _How many of these question can you miss before you fail this test? If you fail this one he’s taking away your books, you’re supposed to be smart, why aren’t you smart, why can’t you know all the answers to one little test?_

He pulled his hair tighter.

 

* * *

 

“You going to tell on me now?” Bruce demanded. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer to be yes or no. _Yes! Of course I’m going to tell! I’ll take the decision away from you; someone else will stop you and keep you from doing this. Do you really actually want to do this? I don’t think you do. You’re just angry right now._

But Stark just smirked. “Hell no. Just let me know before you set it off - I want to make sure I have a good seat when I die. Always wanted to go out with a bang.”

Bruce sighed.

Of course Stark would be weird.

 

* * *

 

“So this is _your_ roof, then. I always wondered whose shadow I was seeing skulking around up here.” 

Clint wasn’t sure what to say. In every daydream he’d ever indulged in in his life, being spoken to by Natasha Romanoff hadn’t been something he’d thought within the realm of even fictional possibility. Beautiful girls didn’t talk to boys with broken ears and unwashed clothes. 

Yet here she was.

_Tell her she’s pretty!_ His brain shrieked in excitement.

“I don’t skulk,” he argued instead - fuck, was he _frowning_ at her? 

But Natasha Romanoff ignored him, instead maneuvering with an envious grace to sit along the edge, feet dangling high above the ground. The sunlight sparkled off of her brilliant red hair.

_Tell. Her. She’s. Pretty!_

“Hmm. Mind if I jump from it?” She asked before he could.

 

* * *

 

 

“Shhh.”

Tony’s stomach burned with agonized effort as he heaved into the toilet. His entire skull felt like it was shrinking, his lungs on fire, and in a bathroom that had only one stall, there was someone hovering beside him. Fuck, had he barged in on someone using the john? Embarrassing.

“It’s okay. Don’t cry, you’re okay. Shh.”

Crying? 

It was March eighteenth.

_Of course he was crying._

His throat ripped a new wave of pain on his nerves as he threw up again, and in retaliation he pounded his fist against the toilet. Fuck, March eighteenth. He should have raided Howard’s liquor cabinet and drank himself unconscious. No quiet to suffocate him, no emptiness to suck him under and drown him until his brain stopped working. He groaned, pitiful and done.  _No March-the-fucking-eight-fucking-teenth._

A hand, solid and warm and gentle, settled across his back, starting an immediate, slow rub of soothing circles that no one had done for him in a year. Today. A year ago today.

He whined, choking on a bile-stabbing sob.  _Christ._

“You’re gonna be okay.”

Turning his head just enough, Tony caught sight of Steve Rogers’ infamous blue eyes bearing into him. Shit.  _Rogers._ Shit. Tony’s eyes fell away desperately.

And instantly landed on something else on the upperclassman’s pant leg.

“You’re bleeding.” His words echoed in the bowl of the toilet.

He threw up again over whatever response Rogers gave him.

 

* * *

 

“Reading in my class again, Mr. Odinson?” 

 

Thor flinched as Mrs. Falsworth’s pale thin fingers suddenly cut across the words singing in his mind, face burning as the teacher ripped the book from his hands.

 

“ _Fairest_ ,” she quoted aloud to the class, reading the title. “I do believe you were reading this a few weeks ago, Mr. Odinson. Still trudging through it?” Her smile was taunting.

 

“That’s a fairytale kid’s book!” A girl from one of the back desks called out. “We read that in fifth grade during _story time!”_

 

A scattering of amused laughter took over the classroom. Thor’s face flushed violently enough to burn as his stomach churned, sickened.

 

“You can have this back after class, Mr. Odison,” Mrs. Falsworth said with the same smile, waving the book in face before moving back toward the board. She dropped the book on her desk.

 

It closed, his place lost.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on tumblr in 2015 under the title "Sad Avengers High School AU". Since, my feelings on the overall topic of the story have grown exponentially. While this particular universe has no set ending, it's a subject I'll undoubtedly continue writing on for the rest of my life.


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